


Night Vision

by orphan_account



Category: Bandom, Dayshell (Band), Of Mice & Men (Band), Pierce the Veil, Sleeping With Sirens
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Emotional Baggage, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Emotionally Repressed, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, M/M, Mention of OCD symptoms, Non-Consensual Violence, Obsessive Behavior, Panic Attacks, Past Abuse, Shaylan Bashby, Shayley has Panic Attacks, Suspense, Threats of Violence, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension, dark themes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-10
Updated: 2016-07-27
Packaged: 2019-01-03 21:54:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12155544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: this has been orphaned due to recent allegations about shayley bourget and sexual misconduct and i will not support that or have that in my books.





	1. Prologue

The new boy intrigued me, and he was an interesting sight. The new boy was my neighbor, and I was content on the idea of learning more about him. He was.. strange, to say the least. 

He tended to keep to himself, wear long sleeves all the time covered by a sweater or jacket atop. Black skinny jeans, I swear that's all he owned. I was determined to know what happened in the home of his. He never left his house unless it was to retrieve the mail or head out to buy food. I don't think he had a job. His roommate did, that solved the mystery of keeping the roof over their heads. 

The man didn't know who I was, or at least I'm sure he didn't. He was cute, and mildly awkward and timid. Something had to be going on, there was no denying that. There was something happening in that house, something that had to be causing him such trauma to be the way that he is. 

Something's got to be going on behind those doors, something that only happens at night I'm sure. I can hear the screams, I can hear the cries for help, the screams of bloody murder. I wanted to help, I wanted to do something. The only problem was, I couldn't bring myself to.

What would happen if I called the police? What would happen to the man and his roommate? What would happen to me? What would happen to their families? 

That's the thing that keeps me from everything...

What would happen?


	2. Chapter 2

I opened the curtains, exposing the small glow from the moon. I could hear the sounds again. The screaming, the crying, the begging.

I sat down on my bed, wondering about what was happening to the boy who lived there. He looked to be the same age as me, maybe a few years younger. He had dull, gingery hair, and pale skin. I didn't know his name, in fact, I didn't know him at all.

I was worried about him. He never left the house, and when he did it was to either retrieve the mail that day or get something to eat. It happened the same time every day.

Seven thirty in the morning he fetches the mail.

Eleven in the morning he goes off to the grocery store, always returning one hour later.

It confused me as to why everything he did was so exact. The only thing that differed every day were the blood-curdling noises. Some days they didn't even happen at all.

I knew he had a roommate, his name I didn't know either. The man looked to be around twenty-seven, maybe a little older. He had a small beard and a mustache, and he was tall. Very tall, and very skinny. He had tattoos, many of them. Nearly two sleeves, some on his legs, and many covering his chest and neck. How that man had enough money to pay for that much ink, I will never know.

"Stop, please!" I heard a voice scream, breaking my thoughts. I knew it was from next door, and I couldn't help myself but wonder what happened in that place. There are many possibilities, some being rape or abuse. It frightened me, to know that someone is going through something terrifying. I wanted to help them, and I would. I just can't bring myself to do that right now.

I looked through my window, seeing that the light was turned on in the downstairs area, which I assume is their living room. I could barely make out the shadows of two humans, one being the tall, lanky man and the other being the small, ginger man.

The answer to some of my questions was being shown right in front of my eyes. I couldn't blink, I couldn't seem to drag my attention away from the horror I was witnessing.

Moments later, the light flickered off, followed with more screaming.

I wanted to call the police, I couldn't bear to hear the sound of torture from just a couple of yards away from me.

But at the same time, I wanted to forget about it. I didn't want to be anybody's hero, I didn't want to be famous. I wanted to save him, that redheaded boy. But I couldn't face the aftermath, and that was always my problem with doing anything in my life.

_What would happen?_

It's a question that always makes its way into my mind before I decide to do something. I can try to block it out as much as I want, it'll come back. It always does. That little voice in my head, it doesn't go away. It never will.

I peer out the window once more, feeling the familiar guilty feeling for not doing anything to help the ginger man. I wanted to, I really genuinely did. 

_So why don't you?_

I ignored the voice in my head and lay back down on my bed, staring at the ceiling. I had a feeling that tonight would be a sleepless night. Every time there's screams, it's a night that I can't fall asleep. The guiltiness is overwhelming, and if I slept it'd be there even longer than I'd wish it to be.

_Why can't I just help him?_


	3. Chapter 3

Today was Saturday. That meant that the ginger man wouldn't go grocery shopping today and that instead of the time of seven thirty in the morning, the time he came out to grab the mail, he'd come out near noon. The time fluctuated between eleven forty-five and twelve fifteen. There were never screams on Saturday. I wanted to know why.

I was determined to befriend him, or at least get to know him a little better. I wanted to at least learn his name today, and go from there. I was going to have to play it by year, and even though I really did not want to do such a thing, it was my only choice. I didn't want to force myself into his life, but I wanted to help him. 

My concept was that if he wouldn't allow me to help him, I was going to help him anyway. Even though I didn't know him well, I still cared for him. 

It currently was eleven thirty, so I had some time to plan out what I was going to do. I decided earlier that I'm going to talk to the ginger man when he came out to get the mail. I just didn't know what I'd say, and that was why I was glad I had a few minutes before I had to go. 

What would I say? I didn't want to seem like a creep, or start off with something like "oh hey, I heard your roommate nearly killed you yesterday..." I wanted to be nonchalant, and I wanted to come off nice. Knowing me, I wanted to be extra careful so I didn't portray the wrong characteristics. I mean, it's not like I had anything terrible planned to do to the man, I just wanted him to trust me before I made a move to call the authorities. I didn't want to assume he was being hurt, as for all I know they could be together and have very... intimate intimacy. I didn't know, but I was determined to find out. 

I hated being nosy, I really did. I felt bad for wanting to barge right into the man's life, but I wanted to get to the bottom of the reason why there were screams and how nobody else in the entire neighborhood heard them. How could they not? I didn't know, and I couldn't bear to hear the answer. 

I look at the digital clock once again, noticing the time had passed quickly. It was a minute to the time the man would come out, assuming he'd get the mail at eleven forty-five. Saturdays were the only day that time was never exact. The ginger man always came out a different time every Saturday. But surely, there had to be a pattern. Why is everything else exact but Saturdays aren't? 

On Saturdays, I also noticed that the ginger has gotten the mail for every minute between eleven forty-five and twelve fifteen. There was never a single minute missed. Every minute between the two times, he had gone out at that time at least once in the few months they had lived here. It was strange, I admit, but there was something even more strange going on in that house. I was scared to know, and I'm sure I have a very reasonable reason why. That reason just doesn't have any evidence or proof. 

I remove myself from the chair I was sitting in, in my living room. I had a very open house, it was interesting, to say the least. I hated very open places, as I preferred the cosy and homey feel. But this shelter wasn't something I could call home. I didn't know where my home was, and I don't know if I'll find it again. It wasn't with my father, the son-of-a-bitch who abandoned my mother who was left with me. My mother loved me, and I know she did the best she could. It just wasn't enough to make my childhood worth something. 

I made my way to the kitchen, where it was pretty much all windows and your typical kitchen appliances. The cabinets were bare, I didn't have much food. I wasn't much of an eater, so there was no need to buy shit loads of food. I just bought what I needed, and used the rest of my money to pay the bills. My mother helped me with my bills, so I wasn't in dire need of a job. Working part-time at Starbucks was good enough for me. 

I didn't know if the man could see me through these windows or not, so I decided to act like I was cooking. I grabbed some frozen waffles from the fridge and popped them in the toaster. This gave me a very good view of his front yard, so I could see when he came out. When he came out, I'd have to be quick. I didn't want to miss him. I suppose it's a good thing that my front door is oddly placed right before the kitchen. My house is very.... Oddly designed, I suppose is the word. I didn't really know how to explain it. 

I never knew why someone would have an idea to put more than three windows in the same room, all within a mere few inches in between them. It meant my house was obnoxiously bright during the day and brighter than you'd think at night. The moonlight always comes in through the windows, and sure, yeah, it's a pretty sight. But it gets old after a while. I do wonder often why I moved into this house. I didn't even pick it out, so why I agreed to live here, I couldn't really say. Mostly because I have no clue.

I spot the familiar ginger hair, and I know I haven't gotten my mail yet either, so that makes this somewhat easier if he asks why I'm out of my house. I don't want him to think I'm a stalker, that'd be a terrible first impression. I mean... I don't stalk him.. Right?

I open my door, only realizing at that current moment I was still wearing what I had slept in the night before. It was too late to back out now, I'll just have to look like an idiot for now. That idiot who walked out of their house on a Saturday morning wearing no pants and a very long, and large, baggy T-Shirt that had a Blink-182 logo on it and a pair of fuzzy slippers that had cats on them. That's not at all odd to find a twenty-year-old man wearing, right? 

Not odd my ass.

I quickly shake my head, snapping myself back into reality. I need to focus on the task at hand -- talking to the boy next door. I walk the few yards to the mailbox, retrieving the past few days mail. I hadn't done much the past few weeks. The guilt inside of my mind was eating me alive. I hated that I couldn't pull myself to do anything. The closest I had gotten to help the man was standing up and taking one step toward my cell phone until I began to freak. I had a panic attack that night, and I was killing myself because of my tendencies to over-think and analyze everything. I always wanted to figure out everything for myself, I rejected help, and I wanted to do every single thing that was right in any situation I was in. And that's what is driving me to my insanity -- I'm a perfectionist. 

I look over at the man, who seemed to be looking at me. I felt my face flush, as I know he must think I'm weird. Who wouldn't? I am standing outside of my house in boxers and a shirt. Who the hell leaves their house without pants? And who could forget my cat slippers, those are somewhat embarrassing too. I mean, they have a plush Hello Kitty on them too. How embarrassing, how embarrassing. 

I didn't notice I was shaking until the man called out, "Are you okay?" I looked away from the letters of junk mail and bills in my hands up to the face of the ginger man. He looked worried, and I don't know why he'd even want to talk to me. I must look like a fucking lunatic. Who enjoys talking to crazy people who look like freaks?

I noticed I was shaking worse than I thought I was when the numerous envelopes fell from my hands. I hated the sight of the mess I made, and certainly, I must look even more like an idiot. How does one simply drop their mail by standing there?

I drop down to my knees and try to pick up all of the envelopes quickly, hoping that nobody would notice. 

Except all I was hoping didn't exactly... Well.. Happen. 

I heard footsteps, and I'm sure it's safe to assume that it's that ginger man. I saw from the corner of my eye him kneeling down next to me. He whispers, "Please don't cry." I didn't even know I was crying. 

"I'm s-sorry," I stammer, trying to regain control of my emotions. "I'm a m-mess, and, j-just, I'm s-sorry."

"It's okay," the boy says in a hushed tone. "What's your name?"

"S-Shayley," I say, trying to stifle my unintentional crying.

"My name is Alan," he tells me. I nod slowly, acknowledging that I heard him. "I'm going to take you inside, okay?"

"O-Okay," I say hoarsely. It was strange what just happened now. It turned from me trying to help him from him helping me. I let my mind get the best of me, and that was a terrible first impression. I'm such an idiot.

Alan stands up and holds his hand out for me to grab. I hesitate and look back down at the ground. 

"I have your letters," Alan says, revealing the papers in his hands. "You can trust me, I'm not going to hurt you." I nod, grabbing his hand. 

After all... What's the worse that could happen?


	4. Chapter 4

Alan led me into my house, and if he was plotting something, it wasn't like anything he could do would effect me much. There wasn't really anything worth stealing in my house, I could care less if he wanted to fucking murder me at the time's being, and really, I just wanted to ignore the fact that I just had a fucking emotional breakdown in my fucking front yard with my fucking neighbour who I've never met before fucking see it and think I'm a fucking loser who fucking has no life and fucking has problems and I fucking hate my putrid fucking life. Fuck everything, fuck it all, I fucking hate it.

I had a simple plan, and that was to help Alan. But because of my own stupid problems, I've fucked up. What else more could I possibly do to make this worse?!

Oh yeah, that's right. The fact that I'm starting to develope a crush on this guy who I barely even fucking know. Hell, I only learned his name ten fucking minutes ago.

"Shayley?" Alan says, looking at me with a worried expression on his face.

"What?" I mumble, avoiding any eye contact. I didn't want to look at him right now. This situation isn't good -- in my case at least.

"What happened?" he asks cautiously. My eyes flicker to him, looking straight into his eyes. I've heard people say that eyes were always the windows to the soul, and I've never really thought about it much. If they are windows to the soul, is this why people say just by looking into someone's eyes you can see what they feel? You can.. Feel them? I never understood it, but I'm starting too.

Alan's eyes held worry, but there was something else. I don't think he was just worried about me, but the fact that he doesn't know me. But really... Who would be scared of me? Who could be scared of me?

"I...I.. I, um.." I trail off, unable to put my words together. I wasn't even sure if I should even tell Alan what happened. He'd probably think I was some twenty year old freak who didn't have friends, had a father who ruined his childhood and should I even continue the fucking list?

"Shayley, it's okay," Alan says quietly. "You can trust me."

"I don't even know you," I whisper. I hoped that Alan didn't hear me.

"Do you even know anyone else?" Alan asks. Of course he heard me.

"No," I answer.

"Then who'll help you?" he questions, his voice quiet. I look away from Alan, staring at the red rose in the flower pot that was on the table.

"I don't want help," I say, getting up and off of the couch. "But I think that you do."

"W-Wha...?" Alan trails off. The statement caught him off guard, and it did catch me as well. I didn't mean to say that out loud, but of course, knowing how fucking stupid I am, I said it. I fucking said it.

"Don't act stupid," I snap, standing up from the couch. "And don't you even dare to think about telling me bullshit. I ca-"

"But I'm not bullshitting you!" Alan says hysterically in response. I don't say anything, I just look him in the eyes. I was searching for truth, honesty, but all I could find was lies.

"You're lying," I whisper calmly, sitting back down on the couch. Alan looks away from me, staring at the chocolatey flooring.

"How could you tell?" Alan asks softly, his gaze still attached to the wood. I could barely hear him.

"Your eyes," I say. "They're the windows to the soul; you can always see if someone's lying or being honest."

"My eyes?" he repeats, his hand moving up to stroke his cheek.

"Yes, your eyes," I say. "But this isn't about your eyes, Alan. You need to tell me, or someone at least, about what the hell happens in that house of yours and your roommate."

"My roommate?" Alan asks, finally looking at me -- straight in the eyes. "That's not my roommate... That's... It's... Umm..."

"Who is it, if not your roommate?" I say, urging him on. I hated to be intrusive, but I needed to know.

"It's A- My boyfriend," he quickly mumbles, getting up. "I've stayed here for too long, I have to go back now.

"I'm not going to keep you from going," I say, standing up also. "But before you go, I need you to tell me anything you feel like you need to say."

"There is nothing to say," he mutters, walking towards the door.

"Alan, wait," I say, gently grabbing his arm. "You're hiding something, and I know you are. What happens at night? What happens in the dark? You really think I don't hear the screams?"

"Nobody else does," he croaks, his eyes beginning to water. He yanks his arm away from me, and I let him leave my grasp. He needed his space. "I've said too much now, I must leave."

"If anything else happens, you fucking tell me, alright?" I say. "You can trust me, okay?"

"Okay," he responds, nodding in understanding.

"Just don't get hurt," I say. "You can go now, if you want."

"Bye, Shayley," he says before opening the door. He waves and quickly closes the door. I see him rush across the yard and into his house.

I think I've made a new friend; I'm sure that goes for both of us.


	5. Chapter 5

It was a Saturday. There was never a single scream, yelp, or cry for help. Never any sounds of shattering glass, or a sound of breaking wood from a bed's headboard. There was no moaning, there was no groaning. There was never a single peep from the house Alan lived in whatsoever.

But that changed.

As soon as the clock struck twelve o'clock midnight, there was the first sound of glass breaking on the floor. Moments later, a scream. It was unmistakably Alan. I could hear his voice, shouting for help, begging for the other man, whose name I caught to be Austin, to stop.

But it didn't stop.

It was currently one thirty in the morning; at least that's what it said the last time I had looked at the clock. I was sitting on my couch, looking out the frosted windows. I couldn't move. I didn't have the energy or willpower to move. I wanted to move; to help Alan.

But at the same time, what if Alan didn't want me to help him? What if he's one of those strange people that's into violent kinky shit? What good would calling the cops do for Alan if he wasn't in trouble?

The only flaw to the idea was the fact that he was calling for help and begging for this Austin guy to stop. I don't know what kind of kink that would be. Is that even a kink at all?

I continue to stare out the window. I was confused, I am confused. I don't know what to do, and I'm afraid I'll choose the wrong option.

The only problem is, I think that I already am choosing the wrong option.

\---

I had ended up falling asleep on the couch. I didn't know what time the horror stopped, but it wasn't occurring right now. But it never happened in the morning. It doesn't surprise me that there isn't anything happening right now.

I quickly jog down the stairs, and head into my kitchen. I had my game plan instructed. I was going to help Alan, whether he liked it or not. 

I pour myself some cereal -- which happened to be Kellog's Frosted Flakes -- and quickly ate the food. I didn't have time to spare. It was nearing twelve thirty. Today was Sunday, meaning that Alan wouldn't be home until twelve-thirty. I didn't know where he went -- and I knew for certain that it wasn't church. He always left between seven thirty and eight o'clock in the morning. Alan's roommate, the Austin guy, he always left for work at six forty-five. 

I still didn't understand why everything that went on in that house was always so... So exact. Things from leaving the house, to going places, to even the sounds of a microwave beeping. They were so exact, so precise. The only thing that was different were the screams. They never happened at the same time in the same month. Never. They've always begun between the times of eleven fifteen and twelve o'clock midnight. But it was never at the same time, it was never in the same room of the house, it was anything but exact. It was pure randomness, and I don't understand it. 

But it isn't my place to understand it. It isn't my place to wonder about it, and it certainly isn't my place to question what goes on in that home. 

I place the empty cereal bowl into the sink (which I'll wash later) and stop by the coat rack next to the front door. I grab a jacket, even though it wasn't all too cold outside, and peer out the window once again. Alan was down the street, but I'll wait until he gets to his yard. I don't want him to get the idea that I'm a creeper because I'm not, I just want to help him. Or at least understand him. I will drive myself insane if I can't figure out why. 

I go to reach for my pocket, to get my phone, and only then realize that I was still in an oversized t-shirt with no pants on (only boxers). 

Why is it that I always forget to change into actual clothes before leaving my house?

I shake the thought from my head, quickly jogging up the steps (two at a time) to quickly slip on some jeans. I grab the first pair I see -- which happened to be a pair of cotton jeans that were grey. I slide them on, doing the infamous dance to get into the damn things. Why I always wore such tight and skinny things around my waist, I have yet to find out. 

I head back down the stairs, tripping over an object and nearly breaking my neck.

"Wha...?" I trail off, pulling myself off of the floor. My head hurt a bit from the impact onto my chocolatey wooden floors, but I ignore it. Right now is not the time to bother over my fall. 

I look over toward where I tripped and seeing no such thing that could've possibly made me fall. I furrow my eyebrows in confusion, scratching the back of my neck. What, did I just fall over the fucking thin air? That's a new low for me.

I feel a cold tongue run against my hand and a wagging tail against my stomach. I look down and sigh. 

"Sharky," I whine, leaning down to pick up the fluffy little dog. "You nearly cost me my life."

"Woof," he barks, wagging his tail some more. I chuckle, putting him back down onto the floor. My mom must've dropped him off earlier when I was asleep, but I'm sure she would've left a note. But yet again, my mother isn't necessarily one to communicate well. I'm still thankful that Sharky's doing well. He seems to be super lively, and I'm hoping the surgery did him well. That cost a shit ton of money -- which Mom was very insistant to pay for. She must've gotten some money from somewhere because I don't think that she could've afforded the whole amount by herself. 

Dad I know would've had. 

Dad. I haven't thought about that bastard since I was set free from the motel I was forced to stay with him at. Mom didn't have custody over me, just Dad. And it was a terrible thing because at least my mother wouldn't have beaten her own flesh and blood to gore. The worst that my mother would've done is ignore me and pretend I didn't exist. Sure, it'd hurt still, but nothing is worse than physical pain. Nothing except one's own mind.

I drive away the unpleasant thoughts. I didn't want to remember those horrible memories from my sixteen-year-old days. That motel was a disgusting place, and what was even worse was living there with my father while he practically murdered me night after night with his own bare hands. It was worse when he got drunk, or even when he used our only money to buy more beer and get his hands on drugs to try. It was something new every week, things from cocaine to heroin. Sometimes he would combine the different drugs into one whole new one that would cause even more havoc. It was a nightmare, but the only difference between a nightmare and what happened is the fact that was the reality and not simply a terrible dream.

Enough of the past, Shayley. Keep your mind on the damn present.

I quickly walk over to the window, seeing that Alan has just arrived at the house, and he's unlocking the door. Well, I guess it's now time for a switch of plans. 

I decide to wait a few minutes before walking over to his house. I was still going to use my previous (or current) plan, but I was taking a different approach. 

I open the front door and step outside. I close the door behind me, and I already feel the anxiety rising inside of me. I reach for my phone, hitting the power button to check the time. It's twelve thirty-two. The clock hits paranoia, I already feel myself getting more anxious by the second. 

Don't be weak, Shayley. Go to Alan's damn house.

I take a step away from the door. I have to keep going because this isn't about me. This isn't my place to be weak. I need to be Alan's rock, and I need to help him and I can't be weak if I want to help him. It's time for me to put my problems aside. It's time for me to be famous, and out of place. It's time for me to move forward, and when I break through Alan's wall, I will help him. 

I am determined to help him.


	6. Chapter 6

I walk over to Alan's house, trying to figure out what I'm going to say. I don't want to be too blunt. It's not like I can just to him and say "Hey, I heard your screams last night." It just doesn't work like that.

I'm in front of the door, and I want to knock. But I can't. I don't know what I'll say, and I don't want to look like a fool.

"I can see you, Shayley." I whip my head to the left, seeing the small ginger peering out of a window.

"Uh..." I trail off. "Hi?"

Mental facepalm.

"Uh, hi," he mumbles in response. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Umm... I, uh... I-I," I stammer, unable to find the words.

"Whatever, it doesn't matter," Alan says quickly, closing the window. Moments later, he opens the door. "Leave."

"Do you really expect me to leave when you know what I heard last night?" I ask, crossing my arms. At least I got the reason spoken.

"I don't," he replies, his face softening. "But you need to go."

"You promised me th-"

"Why do I live?!" he bursts, shouting at me and flailing his arms around. "Why do I live?! Do you see these bruises on me!?" He gestures to his arms.

"I see them," I answer. "And what you need to do is get help. Please, Alan, you can't stay with him for the rest of your life if h-"

"Save yourself from me!" he shouts, cutting me off. "I'm not worth it Shayley! Save yourself from me!"

There was a long pause of silence, and I could tell by his sweat, the tears of sadness and regret, that he was upset. He was hiding something, there was something that Alan wasn't letting leave his mouth, and I wanted to know what it was. But I knew better than to blurt it out, as right now is not the time to push my boundaries.

"I-I'm sorry," Alan whispers moments later, his gaze moving away from me down to the birch floors. "J-Just, you need t-to go."

"I want an explanation, Alan," I say quietly. "This isn't a simple thing, this is serious and you can't just let that guy do this to you."

"That guy is my boyfriend," Alan snapped. "And I love him!"

"But does he love you!?" I shout in response. Alan was blinded by love, that was obvious. "Why would someone who loves you beat you to a bloody pulp? Why would he do that, Alan? Why would he do that?"

By now, I was shedding tears of my own. Alan's crying only worsened, and it seemed that he was being destroyed by Austin. I hadn't even met the guy and I already dislike him strongly.

"I don't know," Alan sobs, throwing himself into me. He was crying even harder now, burying his head into my chest. I cautiously wrap my arms around him, pulling him closer to me.

We stay in the awkward hugging position for a few moments, as Alan practically cries his eyes out.

"I-I'm sorry," he stammers, shoving me away. "You shouldn't be here."

"Alan, you need t-"

"Go Shayley! Go, and..." He trails off, wiping tears away from his eyes.

"And what?" I ask, my curiosity getting the best of me. I expect the worst to come from his mouth, it's just my nature.

"And please don't come back," he whispers so softly that I barely heard him.

A lump forms in my throat, signalling that I'm about to break down in tears. And there was no way in hell I wanted to break down in public again, but I couldn't bring myself to walk away. I couldn't move, I can't move, I... I don't do a thing.

"I'm sorry, Shay," Alan says softly, years of his own streaming silently down the sides of his pale face. He shuts the door, and I hear the locks being turned.

If I didn't know Alan well, then why do I feel this way? Why do I feel crushed, feel... Broken? Why do I care?

I feel something grab me by the back of my jacket, and I'm yanked away from the door. My first instinct is to scream, to yell and shout for help. My mouth opens, yet not a single sound comes out.

I'm pushed against the side of my house, as I can tell by the dark colouring. I look up at the man that was obscenely close to my face. He looked familiar, but if don't know where I'd know him from.

He had tattoos on his neck, hands, wrists and the one on his chest read 'This World Is Not My Home'. He had deep chocolate brown eyes, some specks of gold found in them. He also had hair that matched the colour of his eyes. It was swooped up, and it was most likely styles with gel.

"Stay away from my house," the man hissed. "Stay away from me and Alan, do you fucking understand me?"

I open my mouth to speak, but instead of creating words it's more of a gasp for air. I only had just realised the man was fucking holding me by my throat.

"What was that?" the man chuckles, his grip tightening. "What did you say, Pretty Boy?"

"N-N-Noth-thing," I stammer, struggling to speak. It was hard enough to breathe properly at this point, let alone speak a word without stuttering.

"That's what I thought," he says, his smirk dropping away from his face. He lets go of my throat, and I fall down on the floor. He was significantly taller than me, about 6'4.

"Stay the fuck away," he threats, walking off toward Alan's house.

Only then did it register in my mind that I had nearly been killed by Austin, and I just gave Austin a reason to beat the shit out of Alan.

What a fucking idiot, Shayley.


	7. Chapter 7

I had managed to drag myself from the side of my house to the upstairs bathroom -- which happened to the be only bathroom -- to clean up the few wounds Austin had created.

I had red marks all over my neck, which I was sure would bruise. I'd be littered with questions from the people at work, but that wasn't my main worry. No, I was worried about Alan.

I cleaned up the few cuts that Austin had left, and I wrapped my ankle up in a brace. I left the bathroom. I didn't want to stay there any longer than I had too.

It was currently seven thirteen, the evening time. Even though it was only August, it was dark outside. But I shouldn't be surprised. Winter time always came with longer nights and shorter days, something I've always enjoyed as a kid.

But now, I wasn't so sure. Austin had done his job of making me afraid of him, but what he wasn't successful with is the fact that I still was concerned for the little ginger that lived with him. I couldn't bear to see Alan hurt by that boyfriend of his. What an excuse....

"Shayley?" I heard someone call, along with a sound of the front door closing right behind it. I stayed quiet, in fear of who it could be. But yet, why would he come back for more?

"Shayley, I know you're here..." The voice trailed off with a few footsteps leading toward somewhere north. Somewhere near me, where I was. Cowardly holding myself together on top of the stairs. I could just barely see a human-shaped shadow dancing alongside the kitchen area. It was too dark to make out anything else.

"Shayley, darling, c'mon, you can't be afraid of me," the voice chimed. It was a higher pitched voice, one full of melody. Something similar to mine, but had more of a.... Mexican vibe to it.

Oh no.

"Victor..." I whispered unintentionally, letting the words leave my mouth before I had to chance to even register what i was doing. Before I had the chance to shut my mouth to prevent any sound.

The footsteps stopped, alongside with a chuckle leaving his lips.

"Yessiree, it is me. That one Mexican, Vic Fuentes. How's ya been?" Vic chuckled. Flipping a light switch on, his features became much more visible. The tan on his minimally muscular arms, the wavy brown hair, his chocolatey brown eyes... He was adorable, nonetheless.

No, he wasn't my type.

"Boy, what the hell happened to you?!"

"Well..." I trail off, not knowing where to start.

"Go on, who's this sucker who needs a punch?" He urges.

"A sucker punch? Really?" I chuckle. "That's the oldest thing in the book I've ever heard from you."

"Please, you've heard worse things out of my mouth in middle school."

"That's true. I couldn't ever forget 'penis breath' or 'turd blossom'," I laugh.

"Who's to say you and your 'muffinface' or 'numnut' ain't any better?" he mumbles, crossing his arms.

"Easy," I chuckle. "At least I didn't take one of yours and make it a spinoff... Walnut."

"Oh shut your mouth and just tell me who's this turd blossom who did this shit," Vic says.

"Well, there's this nice little ginger guy next door, and his name is Alan an-"

"Alan? He's a ginger, short, and he's obsessed with cats, right?"

"How do yo-"

"IS HE?" Vic demands.

"Well, yes, but I don't see what this ha-"

"Alan Anthony Ashby. I know the kid. He was in a band with Austin Carlile, Phil Manansala, Aaron Pauley, Tino Arteaga... Don't you remember that bastardly band you were in during high school?!" Vic yells, startling me with his sudden outburst.

"Of Mice and Men," I say quietly, memories flashing through my mind. "Of course I remember, but no, no, that.. There was no Aaron Pauley, there... No! That can't be..."

"It is, Shayley. You know Alan, and he knows you. Now god dammit, tell me what happened to ya before I storm next door and shout at that ginger."

"Don't do that... He's startled enough by what he has to go through each day.."

"What do you mean?" Vic asks, intrigued.

"He's got a boyfriend, I assume that is, and his name is Austin. But I don't think that's Austin Carlile. No way, no way. They don't even look anything alike," I deny immediately.

"Sorry to break it to ya, but I'm fairly sure it is. And once again. Sorry to break it to ya, but I ain't giving that sucker a punch or I'll end up as worse as you. Hell, I'll be even more bastardly than you are!"

"What encouragement, Vic..." I trail off, rolling my eyes.

"Whatever, Shay," he chuckles. "But I've got to go drop by Mike and Tony's. Ya hear? They're getting engaged. Bout time, I say."

"They are?" I ask, scratching the back of my head.

"Yessiree! Now I'll come back later, but I've gotta wedding to plan!"

Vic hops up from the stair he sat on, and bolts his way out of the house.

"God, what am I going to do with my life," I mumble to myself as I get off the floor and drag myself to my bed.


	8. Chapter 8

It's been a few days, but a few days too long, since I have seen the little ginger come out of that home. It scared me, it frightened me, and I wish to God I could just storm into that place and get him out of there. It wasn't safe for him. And I would, I really would, if I could. Meaning, if I wouldn't get both myself and Alan killed. It was mainly for Alan's safety. 

Hence, my different, more... Indirect approach. 

I wasn't prepared for what I had done just a few measly minutes ago, but it's worth anything to save that kid's life. Not to mention the fact that I had known him before the day I moved into this house. I still can't wrap my head around it. I would've remembered him. I remember nearly everything. Especially people's faces... 

I hear my phone ringing, and instantly I pick it up. There are only three people who'd call me - Vic (now that he has my contact information), my mother, and the one who is helping me compose this plan altogether, Corey. It had been a while since I had seen Corey, considering he's about... Oh, I don't know.. like five years older than I am. 

"Hello?" I say, regretting not looking at the caller id. 

"Glad you picked up," raspy voice whispers. "Vic stopped by earlier, huh?"

"How'd y- Who is this?" I ask. I bite my lip, awaiting the response. The other end doesn't answer immediately and simply chuckles.

"C'mon, Shayley, don't you recognise my voice?" they laugh. "You only heard me just a short few days ago. Sorry, did I choke you up so badly? I tend to have that effect on people."

"Austin," I seethe, realising who it was. 

"Glad you could come to your senses! You know, I'm honestly surprised that you don't remember our silly little band. It was only two years ago, sweetie," he says in a bastardly tone. "How could you forget your 'favourite little ginger guitar player', Bourget?"

"Stop," I mumble, getting a headache from trying to remember the things that happened. But I can't. I can't remember them at all and I don't have a god damn clue why.

"You seem to be having troubles with your memory. Maybe you shouldn't have abused alcohol which made you leave our happy little band in the first place. I mean, shit Shay... You're not even of legal drinking age. How did the poor little eighteen year old boy get his hands on that much alcohol, hm?" 

"That doesn't matter," I breathe slowly, trying to keep my composure. 

"Does it not? Or can you not remember that, either?" he laughs.

"It. Doesn't. Matter," I pause. Don't let him under your skin.

"Something tells me it does."

"IT DOESN'T FUCKING MATTER!" I scream, breathing heavily. I take a moment to calm myself, asking, "Why did you even fucking call? Are you just here to fucking harass me and make me feel like utter shit? Or are you here to warn me about talking to Alan? What do you want from me, you fucking asshole?!" Maybe not so calmly. 

"Why did I call, you ask?" he chuckles quietly. "I'm here to tell you that there may be cops at your door any second for false accusations, harassment, and possession and usage of illegal narcotics." 

"What?!" I scream into the phone angrily. "I don't even fucking use drugs! I have not touched drugs since I was seventeen and if I did know you then, you clearly know that!"

"Oh? What a shame. I could've sworn I saw some shrooms hidden in the shrubbery of your house. A few pot plants in your backyard. Bags of heroine hidden underneath flowers in your potted plants. You think I didn't notice?"

"I never even fucking did heroine!" I yell. "And what do you mean harassment? You're the one who's fucking beating your boyfriend half to death every night! You think I'm the only one who hears those screams? You think I'm the on-"

"No, I don't. But you want to know something? You're the only one stupid enough to try and stop something that doesn't involve you. The more you try to butt your way in? The more trouble you're going to cause for Alan. And you don't want to cause the trauma of your 'favourite little ginger', do you, Shayley?"

"No," I say after a few moments. How could I be such a fool..? I.. "No, I don't."

"Then stay out of our lives and our happy relationship." The call goes dead.

Moments later, I hear a knock on my door. Walking to open it, immediately the door is kicked open.

"Shayley Dayshell Bourget?"

"That's... That's me," I stammer, holding my hands up after placing the phone on the ground.

"You're under arrest."


End file.
